Torture On the Ice
by IslesRebelAngel
Summary: Miracle fic, it used to be longer but I condensed it into a oneshot, about the Herbies skated on the ice on one long night in Norway. It includes all of the players' perspectives. AngstDrama, T for language.


I got this idea when I watched the Norway scene. It's the twenty guys' thoughts on the whole issue. I know there are more than twenty guys at the time of the Norway scene, but I really don't know their stories well. And I will most likely also include Ralph Cox in this.

Here goes...

Mike Eruzione:

This was what happened when you didn't work harder. All I knew was, we were heading back toward the bench after the game was over, and then everyone started back towards the ice. Something nobody had any idea about. 

Now we're here, skating our hearts out and trying not to pass out. All I hear is Herb shouting about something- us not having enough talent to win on talent alone. I have to remind Bah to write that one down when we got out of here. But right now I need to concentrate on not falling.

Jimmy Craig:

My mother wanted me to be on this team. What if she had known the kind of person coaching this team?

Herb has to have lost it. Every time we stopped, he went off on a rant about our failure. He was pissed beyond belief, and we were sufffering for it. First death, then confusion, and now downright exhaustion. I guess he hadn't stopped to think about those of us who have been on the ice throughout the game, and who now were skating harder than usual for his benefit. I can't imagine why he would do this- who else would do this. It's been a near half-hour, and he's not letting up. Why doesn't Coach Patrick just throw down that stupid whistle and run off, he's making my head pound worse.

Mark Pavelich:

I'm sure nobody understood just what Herb was thinking of when he started this. But I guess it's not my job to know. I just need to keep up, keep skating, even if I die.

Hey, that won't happen. Just keep skating. Keep skating. Try to keep your legs under you.

"When you pull on that jersey," Herb was shouting, "you represent yourself and your teammates, and the name on the front is a hell of a lot more important than the one on the back! Get that through your head!"

And he sends us off again. I saw Bah further down the line, obviously trying not to throw up, when we stopped. Now he was skating again, hard, fast, somehow keeping upright. This is tiring, all this back and forth... one of my least favorite drills ever. When are we stopping?

Steve Janaszak:

I wasn't prepared for this. Being backup, I was for the most part loose, but I still wasn't totally prepared. And knowing that most of these guys had been on the ice for the whole game- Jimmy, definitely- I knew how they were feeling. So what right did I have to complain?

I didn't expect much time on the ice. Hell, Jimmy's an awesome goalie, and he's tough. And now I'm getting a little annoyed. How long has it been since we started this?

It's tiring, even to me.

Buzzy Schneider:

I sat on the bench, watching the boys skate like there was no tomorrow, and asked Craig: "Should I get my skates on?"

My fellow Coneheads, Bah and Pav, were no doubt tired. The rest of the team was tired, too, being absolutely worn down by Norway, and I was thrown out for getting into a scrap. I definitely had enough energy. Hell, anything to keep Herb from doing this all night.

Craig whispered back, "Don't worry. Keep down."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Just don't direct Herb's anger towards you."

So all I did was look on, a cold pit forming in my stomach. Every drill they did, I did with them, in my head.

Bobby Suter:

My legs were killing me, but I still skated. We all did, even though guys were falling all over the place and Herb wouldn't keep Craig off that damn whistle. But I didn't want to let him, my team, or myself down. I still skated.

My legs feel like lead by now. It had to be about an hour. And we were still here. The lights had gone out just before this. I had heard Verchota ask, "Think we're getting out of here?"

I wish we were. Geez, how much could we take? It was killing all of us.

Mike Ramsey:

I'm young. I'm actually the youngest on the team at eighteen. I'm pretty fit. I skate hard and fast as I can. But I'm dying here. Skating, all the time, back and forth- my head is spinning with the image of the blue lines, red lines, and marks cut deep into the ice.

We've been doing this for over an hour. All of us are completely exhausted. And Herb won't let up. He keeps telling us things we don't want to hear, keeps forcing Coach Patrick to blow that stupid little whistle... I'm beginning to hate him. I'm beginning to hate being here, on this team.

But hey, I'm young. I'm strong. I can do this. Just keep going, keep skating... don't fall, just keep going...

John "Bah" Harrington:

Does Herb even know what the hell he's doing to us? He's gone crazy. This is unbelievable. I have no idea how long we've been here (feels like forever) but I just want to go. Please, just say, "That's enough" and let us go for the night... 

Unfortunately, Herb's not a mind reader. And I can't let him know how I feel- I want to stay here, as mad as it sounds. The cold ice air is getting to me, I think- but I can't be the first quitter. I'll die from embarrassment if I don't die from exhaustion.

Buzzy was lucky, he was sitting out... but I knew by the look on his face that I saw faintly somehow... he wanted to help us out. He wanted to die with us. I guess there really is no pride in being a sole survivor when your closest friends are dead. Is that what Herb wants to do?

God, I hate this man.

RobMcClanahan:

This is torture. Full blown, ruthless torture. I'd take that fight with OC over this any day, even if he does kick my ass again...

He's never been like this before. Four years, I've played for him. And I felt a few more months wouldn't hurt. But these few months are going to feel like years. If we keep dong this every time we lose... half of us will die of heart attacks, and the other half will leave or die of madness. Herb's really lost it, hasn't he?

I can hear the boys panting, gasping for air. I can hear heaving, sticks being balanced for support. I can really feel everyone's pain.

And I just want this shit to end. Just end. We've had way more than enough. Just let it go.

Dave Silk:

Why were the genius coaches always crazy?

Don't get me wrong. Herb is a lunatic, but he's got to be smarter than any coach I've ever played under. He knows exactly whose buttons to push and how to push them. And here we are, spilling our guts out onto the ice, and no one dares to say anything, do anything, to stop us from dying. And nobody knows how long they can hold up. We're just keeping up until Herb says we can stop.

Besides, I think we're all too tired to stop it. I've been doing hard drills for as long as I can remember, but nothing like this. It's awful, like everything, all your limbs, are going to just fall off. Stop working. Just die. And you're going to die with them. And you want to, because nothing, not even death, could possibly be worse than what you're going through right now.

Eric Strobel:

I remember going through practice at the U. All my teammates would say, "Hey, Electric, gonna burn a hole in the ice anytime soon?"

The answer would be maybe if I was on my own, but now with all of us skating like there's no tomorrow, I can feel the ice melting under my feet. Or is that just me melting into nothing?

I can see everyone's faces through the haze of exhaustion. They're tired, angry, upset beyond belief. Why is Herb still doing this, after clear over an hour? Doesn't he want to go home? We do...

Because I'm not feeling electric right now. On the contrary, I'm about to short out. 

Ken Morrow:

I'm a pretty big guy, and I move all right. But after doing it for a while you just want to fall apart. I can tell nobody wants to keep going right now, least of all Herb. Look at him. He's loosening his tie, unsheathing his jacket, saying "Again," not with the anger and conviction he started out with, but with tiredness and resignation, as if he's set to do this all night, just like this, until one of us just falls flat.

I'm not about to say anything. I don't want to be the first quitter. 

Phil Verchota:

This is torture and a half. I'm all set to throw up my whole lunch and more, everything I've ever eaten in my life. This wasn't even our worst loss, so no one could understand why our coach had suddenly morphed into Captain Bloodbeard.

If I was more of a fiery spirit, I'd be swearing, slamming my stick across the boards, screaming at the top of my lungs. But speaking of that... what was that? Someone else had slammed their stick across the boards, the sound is killing my eardrums. Or had someone shot Herb in the head, finally?

Mark Johnson:

I don't know why I did it. I just felt like this was out of line. We were sweating, panting, dying, and for what? A listless effort, this was true, but...

We shouldn't be punished. Not like this.

So I directed everything into my stick and slammed it as hard as I could on the boards. I nearly cracked it clear across, and twenty-five pairs of eyes- as well as Herb's, Craig's, and Doc's- shot to me. The mild-mannered one, never making a big fuss, had snapped and become angry. What else can one do? The mad scientist is experimenting with us, and I don't like it.

Mark Wells:

Herb's staring daggers at Johnson, trying to read his mind, I guess. Whatever happens, I hope to God I get a decent funeral service. I have half a mind to bolt right now, to leave this dream behind.

But that would give him so much leverage. I'd lose everything. I'd die. Good grief, I'd die.

Then Herb does the craziest thing. He turns and leaves. Is it over? Is it finally... over?

Neal Broten:

Herb's leaving us alone. He's leaving. He's giving us the go-ahead to leave. But I don't know if I can. My legs are numb. I can't feel anything. If I make one more move, I'll fall apart.

Slowly, people start getting up, and I follow somehow. I'm back in the locker room, dying of exhaustion. No one's saying a word.

God, I don't want to be here anymore.

Billy Baker:

I've never heard a locker room as quiet as this one is. It's as if we're all dead. I can't believe how hard we've been pushed, especially right after a game. We've never done this at the U.

I can barely think straight. I'm so goddamn tired, I can barely feel my legs... I can just imagine how everyone else feels. Herb's an evil son of a bitch right now, and I've never thought that of him before. But like I said, I can barely think straight.

Dave Christian:

I'm taking off my gear as slowly as possible, with all thought of sleep before me. I can hear everyone taking their gear off also, but no one talking. It's eerie, I've never heard a more eloquent silence, everyone saying the same thing without words. I can't help but agree with everyone around me. I hate Herb right now. 

It's only been a while. And if this is going to be how it is until February, I can just shoot myself right here.

Steve Christoff:

We're on the bus right now, and I'm right within sight of Coach Brooks. God, I want to kill him right now. My legs are killing me- I could barely get on the bus, along with the other guys. I still hear the scraping of skates on ice, Herb's yelling, "Again!", that damn whistle blowing up my head- it's driving me crazy.

I can only think of everyone else's thoughts- I'm not a mind reader. But based on glances and expressions, I can tell we're all on the same page for once.

Bonus-Ralph Cox:

I'm about to die right now. My heart was beating crazily on the ice when we were doing those Herbies. One or two were tiring, and we had done an hour's worth. It was too much.

What was Herb thinking? Would we ever know? Do I even want to know? I don't think I do. Maybe someone else would find out, someday...

This fiction is FINISHED now. If there is any player I missed from the team, please let me know.


End file.
